


Fighting windmills

by friedpossum



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Dominance, F/M, Humiliation, Literary References & Allusions, Tags May Change, Warnings May Change, Weight Issues, atleast mary sue ish, plus size OC, season 7, weight slurs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2018-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-06 23:04:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 6,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8772925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friedpossum/pseuds/friedpossum
Summary: You're the woman taking Olivias place guarding and keeping track of supplies, after she breaks down in front of Negan. You are attracted to him, but you also loathe how he behaved towards Olivia.





	1. Temper temper

**Author's Note:**

> No idea how long this will be or how it will go, so I'll just post suddenly, and edit tags and warnings as I go along.

 

You sit, feet on the table when he walks into the storeroom that now works as the supply room, reading on the couch. You knew he'd come today, and you may or may not look extra badass today just to give yourself a boost. You're wearing your regular combatboots, your jeans, and your khaki tanktop, butch look complete with a flannel shirt, open and loose. As he walks in, Saviours in tow, he gives you a ripple of arousal. You've seen him once before when he raided the supply closet, but the effect he had on you then was nothing compared to now, when he's close and his barytone voice rumbles through the room. Your boots are making a mark on the table, as you lean your feet on it to read, and you can feel the hairs on your neck stand up as he takes you in.

 

"Well,well,well. What do we have here?" He strolls over, and pushes your feet off the table, using Lucille as a prop. "Hey!" You exclaim, trying not to let the fact that your heart is pounding through your chest show. "That's no way for a lady to sit", he grins, and you know he's trying to rile you up. You push your glasses back up your nose. "Good thing I ain't a lady, then", you say, defiantly putting your feet back up on the table while maintaining eyecontact. He raises his eyebrows, and keeps staring at you, grin growing wider each second untill the hairs on your neck stand up again, and a cold trickle of fear runs down your back. You look down into your book, not able to challenge him any longer. He chuckles, and swipes your feet off the table again, his men already doing their thing, collecting and scavenging. He speaks again, that voice sending shivers through you. "You're not the same fat girl that kept records of the supplies the last time. Where'd she go?"

 

You feel a surge of anger, not just because he called you fat, you know you're not skinny, it's not the first or last time someone has told you this, but because of the way he treated Olivia, that you had a soft spot for. You want to mention something about his behaviour, but you land on a generic answer. "She's asked to be transferred to other duties, but she's probably home." He chuckles, and you feel something snap,you put the book down and attempt to tighten your ponytail some, without looking him in the face. "Why, didn't she cry enough for you the last time?" He turns to you, amused, and chuckles. "Oho! Someone has a temper." You feel your heart pounding. Fuck. You may have gone too far. "Well, while we await your fearless leader, we're gonna be here for awhile, so I have ample time", he waves the bat in your direction, "To teach you how to keep that temper in check." His grin grows wider. "Down on all fours."

 


	2. Patience is a virtue

 

You remember what Olivia said, what he had proposed to her, and the surge of jealousy that had hit you when you heard. How you had thought if only _you_ had been there in her place – and the shame that followed. How you kept thinking of him after that – surely he had been joking? Surely he couldn't be attracted to anyone your size? And then the thoughts of what he might do, if you were there when he came next. That's when you started working out the courage to ask Rick to replace her. Luckily, Rick had asked you first. You couldn't run as fast as the others on a supply run, so you would be a liability. You were grateful for once, for your size.

 

"Down on all fours", Negan said. You look at him, and you can feel a blush creeping your neck. You do as he says. "I hope you're not going to kill me, I haven't finished the book yet". He chuckles and look at it. "Don Quixote? Really? That tells me you know how to be patient." He squats in front of you. "Let's see how patient, hm?" He stands up, and you get a whiff of his scent, he smells of soap and leather, and smoky scent – like he'd been close to a bonfire. You stand, head down, ponytail dangling down on one side, on your hands and knees. "Hm. Not quite right. Legs further apart", he says, foot poking your legs. You set them wider, and wider still as he doesn't seem pleased. "Hm,no, like you're about to get fucked in the ass."

 

You turn to look at him, incredulous, but do as he says. You feel your face turning bright red, you can't help imagining him doing just that. You feel your body responding to the imagery, and the shame turns deeper, when you feel your nether-lips grow wet and slip apart like a small moan in itself. He chuckles. "Apparently, getting fucked in the ass is a good look for you." You make a snarling face, but don't dare say anything, out of fear your voice will betray you. He sits down where you sat, picking up the book, and you feel the sharp pain of his boots on your back. "Oh, how rude of me", he smiles, sounding completely sincere, but isn't for a second. He kicks off the boots, and bends forwards to brush off the dirt from the exposed skin on your lower back. You get goosebumps all over, and your nipples harden, just from his touch. He chuckles again, the slow, dry chuckle that he made sound like was several syllables longer than it was. His feet are on your back again and you vow to yourself to stand there for as long as you can.

 

"You get far in this?" He asks as he reads. "Not yet", you answer, trying to keep your voice steady. It's heavier than expected to stand like that, and even though he hasn't mentioned you resting on your elbows, it feels like a defeat. "Let me see what else you got", he says, and jumps up, perusing your bookshelf. His men seem to be mostly done at this point, his right hand man Simon smirking at you from the door. "Have you read this?" He asks, and you turn. He's holding a worn copy of 'The story of O' in his hands. Your copy. You feel your face betray you, but you manage to shake your head. "Really?" His hips underlines his disbelief. "Well, it's a classic. How about I read it to you, huh?" He exchanges looks with his henchman, who leaves.

 

You stare down into the floorboards as he begins to read the familiar words, sometimes marked by hearts on the edge of the paper, sending shivers through you. His voice has the effect on you that you feared it would. You feel your lips swell with arousal, blood pumping in between your legs. Your face is constantly red now, you can't help it. He licks his fingertips, you see in the corner of your eye, and grins. "..and it was easy enough to find the right-sized collar and bracelets in the basket." He stops, eyes on you and smiles. "You ever wear a collar?" You shake your head violently, trying far too hard to keep yourself steady. He chuckles. "You are a shitty fucking liar". Your red face turns a deeper shade of red. "You never told me your name, doll". You feel a pang of anger, mixed with shame. Him being able to read you this easy was unexpected. You should have prepared for him, you realize. You were outmatched and then some. You tell him your name, and add grudginly, "I'm not 'doll'." You hear him chuckle. "That temper is gonna get you in trouble, _doll."_ From the way he underlines it you know he's not kidding. He crouches in front of you, grabbing your chin with one hand. "You're called whatever I choose from now on. If it's princess, doll, girl, fuckface, you're gonna answer to it. Is that clear?" You feel your panties soaking through, and you try to hide the effect he has on you. He forces you to look into his eyes, while you answer 'yes'. He pats your cheek. "Good girl." You can't help but exhale slightly, looking down helplessly into the floor.

 


	3. A game of cups

He gets up, and makes himself a cup of coffee. You can hear him in the kitchen, and you loosen up a little. You press your thighs together, trying to stifle the urge a bit. He comes back and you try to look down. He pulls your shirt up, almost to your brastrap and places the warm cup on your lower back. "I wouldn't move a lot if I were you." You freeze. He looks at you. "Wait, no, you actually do need to move." He sets the coffee down on the table, and grabs you by the hips, and you make a shrill outburst of surprise. "I want your ass facing me, and those legs needs to be apart again." You feel utterly humiliated, but his warm hands on your hips makes that heat in your core flame up. He moves you around, like a piece of furniture, and tells you to spread your legs wide. He purrs 'good girl' and you are so grateful he can't see your face – the effect those two words have on you is embarrassing. As he reads, he places the cup on your lower back, and you try not to flinch.

 

You're starting to zone out, thinking about how you were actually kind of rude to him. Maybe you shouldn't have been. You feel a spark of anger at that, at yourself, how can you be manipulated so easily? You know better. Just because you're on a rocket headed in to subspace doesn't mean he's right, or has the right to act like he does. You cling to that anger, the only thing that can stop you from succumbing to that man and whatever he has planned. He keeps reading and you try to not listen, knowing the effect and memories that lie within the pages of that book. "You've got patience, girl, or is it just stubbornness? Hard to tell." You can hear the grin on his face, and a flash of his smile and those damn cute dimples worm its way into your head.

 

He keeps reading, and you tense up. "You've never tied her up? No, never. And never whipped her?" He stops reading again, and finishes his cup, placing it on the table. "You ever been tied up, girl? Or whipped?" You shake your head. He has a warning tone in his growl. "Speak when you're spoken to." You bite down a whimper, and answer, trying to control your voice. "No." He chuckles again. "You have _got_ to stop lying, you are seriously fucking shit at it." You feel your face redden again. "Legs wider apart, face to the floor." You spread as far as you can, and feel the cool floorboards against your forehead. "Oh, that is a good fucking view," he says, picking up the book again, leafing through it. You hope he'll skip past the speech, you pray to whatever deity might hear that he does, but as you've marked it, dog-eared that page untill the upper corners almost disintegrated, of course he does not. His low voice rumbles through you, and you know your panties are soaked through by now. You're thankful that your jeans are dark, but you're starting to worry. How much can they really take before soaking through? "You are here to serve your masters", he reads, and you can't hold back a small whimper, praying inwardly he didn't hear it. How many times have you read that particular passage? How many times have you pleasured yourself while reading those words? He keeps reading, and you try to not pay attention, but you can't help it. "But at the first sign from anyone, you will drop whatever you are doing and ready yourself for what is really your one and only duty; to lend yourself." You can't help but feel every part of your body intensely. The prickling feeling in your knees, the flush of your face, the wet of your slit pressing against the fabric, the starting need to get release. His voice rumbles on. "Your hands are not your own, nor are your breasts, nor most especially, any of your bodily orifices, which we may penetrate at will." He closes the book suddenly, the hard clap making you flinch. "Turn around and face me, on your knees." He sits broadlegged on the couch and you turn around, sitting up on your knees, hands on your thighs - a familiar position for you. His crotch is right in front of your face, so you keep your head down, focusing on the floor. You feel that anger again, mixed with the heat of your burning cheeks, and the shame that he actually has you soaked.

"Doesn't look like you've cooled down", he says, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. A smile is playing on his lips. "Fuck you", you mutter, knowing full well that it's a stupid fucking thing to say. His grin widens. "If you insist." You stutter, trying to save face, meeting his eyes with yours. "I didn't mean..." His look of faux innocence makes you flustered. He breaks out in a grin. "That's a Freudian fucking slip if I've ever heard one, doll." You look at him, salt and pepper beard, brown eyes and that tongue that slips out sometimes, and your lips part. You want him, and he knows it. Does he know how much?

"You think I'm a dick, huh," he says, grin making his dimples deep. You look down, not sure what is the wisest thing to do. "And fuck,maybe I was a dick to your friend, but I did offer her an apology. She declined it." He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his face excruciatingly close to yours. "Have I been a dick to you?"

 


	4. Yield

You think it over. You know his rules, you know the drill, and you acted like a brat. And you don't want him to give you the same proposal he gave Olivia. Not only because you deserve more than a repeat, more than just another fuck,but because you don't want him to know how much you want it. You swallow, a hoarse whisper over your lips. "No." A glimpse of surprise in his eyes change to amusement. "Well, then." He runs his hand over his salt and pepper beard, his smile wide and unnerving. "Then you won't need an apology." He winks. "But then I might need one, seeing as if I'm not the one being a dick, you must be." Your temper gets the better of you, and you glare at him. "I'm sorry", you spit out. He chuckles. "Oh, no. You can do _so_ much better." You're taken aback. What does he want from you?

 

He leans forward again, lips only inches from yours, and you can't help but parting yours slightly, in eager anticipation. You blush as he speaks, hot breath on yours. "I'm sure someone as well-read as you can figure something out." You try to sass him, ignoring the very obvious referal to the story of O, you look to the copy of Don Quixote. "What, are you suggesting I should fight a windmill for you?" He smiles, a primal snarl. "Clever. You've got a mouth on ya, for sure. What else can you use it for?" You gasp, a sharp intake of breath, making your chest rise. He watches your chest for a few seconds, and your nipples harden. "I can't.." you start, trying to talk your way out of something you are actually dying to do. "..Sing?" He says. "I really can't", you say, relieved and even more terrified now. "I really sound _horrible_." You underline with your hands, and he notices how you're calmer now, and yet more stressed. "You can choose." He leans back. "You can sing to me as an apology, or we can figure out an alternate route to forgiveness." He grins like he just won the jackpot and you squirm, trying not to show how on edge he has you. Some of the heat between your thighs has quieted down, but it's still wet, still throbbing, still making it hard to focus. You can't think of anything, it's as if you don't even know what music is anymore. You clench your jaw before taking a breath. "Don't say I didn't warn you", you say to him, allowing yourself to drown for a second in his warm brown eyes.

 

You swallow, there was nothing you hated more than singing or speaking in front of people, and especially in front of someone attractive. You close your eyes and tap the rhytm on your thigh. " _I see trees of green, red roses too, I see them bloom for me and you.._ " You keep singing, eyes closed, and hope he's done humiliating you soon. You finish the song, and a pair of soft lips land on yours, taking you utterly by surprise. You melt into it, and when you open your eyes, you look into his, and he has a wolfish grin plastered on his face. "Apology accepted. You're forfuckinggiven." You swallow, and stand up. "I gotta to eh,go." Negan stands, so tall, he towers over you. He bends down, nose to nose with you and says in that gravelly voice. "You can't run away from yourself, girl. So just fucking run with it." He pulls you into another kiss and you moan as he presses you close.

 


	5. Windmills

You melt into it, feeling your knees weaken, and a moan escaping you, and you can't help but wanting more. You feel his smirk, so sure of himself, and anger flares up in you. You pull back and slap him as hard as you can. He chuckles and rubs his jaw, a dangerous gleam in his eyes. "How much fire have you got in there, doll?" You snarl, embracing every ounce of anger you can get a hold of. "You have _no_ idea." He looks at you. Really looks at you, staring you down, suddenly serious. "You've had that fire for a long time", he says quietly, looking at you like you're a puzzle for him to solve. "You've tried to quiet that fire.." his gaze traces down your body, making you squirm. "With help from men like me." He finishes with a whisper in your ear. "No." You answer him short and sour, trying to cut off the fun. You don't know why you're fighting it, you want it so bad. If he would just take control properly and not let you get away with it, he'd own you. It's a terrifying thought, but you long for it.

"No, you're right", he grins again. "There are no men like me." The humour glitters in his eyes, and then he moves forward, effectively pushing you back, into a dresser. "I bet I could fuck you on this bench right now, if I just push you ...just... a ... little...more.." For the last part of his sentence he moves forward, thrusting his pelvis into yours, making your core burn with desire again. "Fuck you", you mutter, it's hard to focus. "You're repeating yourself, girl, what, am I getting to you?" He chuckles again and you feel the blush creeping up your neck. "No," you push out, almost nothing but a hoarse whisper. You manage to glance at him angrily. You're angry that he's controlling every wave of lust in your body so easily. "You're like Don Quixote", you continue. "Chasing after things that aren't there." You are locked with his eyes, and you feel the heat from his gaze on you. "Oh, they're there." He strokes his thumb over your cheek, down your jawline and close to your lips. "They're just not what they seemed to be."


	6. The waiting game

You wait for him all week. You walk around with a body on the brink of exhaustion, you're eating even less than you have,almost nothing at all - but you feel like you have to do something to punish yourself. You can't deal with the longing, the intense, desperate longing that keeps you awake at night. The kind where you fall asleep eventually, only to jerk awake from dreams where you run away from a figure in the distance. Each time he catches you, you fall into his arms, and yield, and right before his lips hits yours, you wake up, disappointed and ashamed. On the fifth morning you have circles under your eyes. You can't keep up with conversation, you feel dizzy and out of it.

*

Your stomach rumbles. You fall back asleep, the sun warming you through the window. You wake up, and it's dark. You feel dark inside, like there is no point to anything, and it breaks you, because you know this feeling. This feeling you never thought you'd have again. This is beyond waiting for the next Harry Potter book, this is beyond agonizing over whether or not you get to see the boy you like in recess, but it's the _same damn thing._

 

You groan and roll over. Darkness pass into light, and you wake up from the sound of heavy boots. You look at the alarm clock, forgetting that they took it the last time. You move to stand up and the world spins. Somehow you get up, and go downstairs. "Well, if it isn't Sleeping Beauty!" It's not Negan. It's one of his henchmen. The disappointment and sadness overflows in you, but before you let it show it turns to anger. Rick and his men has stocked up as much as they can, but the shelves are still mostly empty. "Where the fuck is all our stuff, huh?" The henchman, a tall, sleazy-looking man with a handlebar moustache walks towards you. The hunger and exhaustion fuels your rage and you don't really feel intimidated. "This was all we got, this time", you mutter. He smiles, noting your defiance. He pokes you in the stomach with a dirty finger. "Tell me the truth, now, porky. Did you eat it all?" He winks, and you snap. The slap you deliver makes your hand burn, and you grow cold. "Fuck you", you snarl, as he straightens up, slowly, clearly ready to retaliate. A low chuckle comes from behind him, and you both turn towards the sound. "What did I tell you about that temper?"

 


	7. Stepping over the line

You flinch. You know you've crossed the line. Again.

A part of you flinches at the bubbling joy that bursts out in you from the mere sound of Negans voice. You muster up the courage to answer, desperate not to show how happy he's made you just by showing up. "He called me a liar." You look him straight in the eye, and your chest bursts out in butterflies when he meets your gaze. "Did he now", Negan purrs. His voice adds to the twinkle in his eyes, he is amused. You cross your arms and stare at him. "You called me a shitty liar. You ask me, then."

Negans twinkle grows dark. You're on wafer thin ice – while he enjoys a challenge, challenging him too much, in front of his men has a price. He looks at you, before bursting out in a smile that seems to light up the room. "Well then. Did you eat it all..." You hope he doesn't add the last word, just because coming from him it would actually hurt. But he's Negan. Of course he does. "....Porky?" You clench your jaw, the joy from seeing him doused with cold water, and you feel tired, empty and numb. "No." Your voice reflects how you feel.

"I believe her", he shrugs to Simon. "But you can't go around slapping my men like that. You need punishment." You pale as Simon starts grinning. Fuck.

 

 


	8. Punishment

"Now, seeing as you slapped Simon, the only fair thing would be to let him slap you back. But, you're a girl, and we're not supposed to hit little girls." He grins, probably knowing exactly how much the belittling 'little girl' would fire you up. _"I'm not a little girl. I'm a grown ass woman"_ , is what you want to say. But you swallow it. "You're right. It's only fair." He feigns a surprised face. "Really? Well, all right.." You remove your glasses and put them on the counter next to you. You look at Negan, his sharp features blurred from the lack of glasses. You shift your view to Simon, his features a bit clearer, as he is closer.

BAM!

The slap disorients you more than it hurts. Half your body twists away from him, in reaction to the slap, and you stagger a bit. You feel your cheek burn. He had not held back. You turn back, and straighten your back, inwardly cheering wildly that he couldn't even bring you to your knees. You can't stop the stinging bringing tears to your eyes, but you look forward at them both, a silent defiant face.

The next slap made you spin, and grab the bench for support. Atleast you're not on your knees. You turn around, still defiant, and ready for another strike. You can see that Simon is getting annoyed. Negan is inscrutable. The next slap brings you to your knees, and your lip splits. You're sure Simon used his full force this time. You stumble up, defiant still, while a hot tear run down your face. You look straight ahead, as though daring him to strike again.

Negan motions to Simon to back down, and asks you in a gruff voice.

"Did you learn your lesson?" Your voice doesn't tremble when you answer him. "Did he?" Negan turns away, and in a splitsecond you fear a slap from him. When he turns around, it's with a smile. "You need some serious anger managment, girl." You place your glasses on your nose, hoping that he's finished. Seeing his face, no longer a blurry outline, makes your heart pound a little harder. "I just need people to stop being dicks to me.." You want to finish the sentence, but the room starts spinning, and your voice fades away as the world turns to black.

 


	9. Careful,carefree

You wake up on the couch, a glass of cold water on the table next to you. You reach for it, but again the room starts spinning.

"When did you eat last?" Negans gruff voice, sounds less than pleased, somewhere close. "I don't know", you mumble. "Well,take a fucking guess, sweetheart." You whimper. "Four days, I think." You try to sit up, and open your eyes. Negan holds the glass in front of you, leaning his elbows on his knees where he sits in his chair, close to you. "SIMON!" Negan roars, and you jump a bit. Accepting the glass you try to drink slowly, you're not feeling well.

"Why the fuck haven't you eaten? There was food here. I saw your book-keeping." He demands. Your anger flame back up. "Yeah, and? That shit's for you. Your people. Whatever you let us keep, is for everyone. We have _children_ here!" You shout the last words, your burst of energy draining you. You set the glass down on the table, empty.

Negan doesn't speak, just looks at you, untill Simon walks over with two bowls with something warm in them, steam coming from them. "Eat", Negan says, grabbing his own bowl, gesturing for Simon to leave. You move closer to the bowl, it smells of warm tomato soup. Your stomach growls. All you can see in front of you is that hungry kid next door. That one kid over in the next house. That pregnant lady three houses over. You push the bowl away, it doesn't matter how much you want it. "We have children here." You underline every word with a tired look. Negan looks at you, dark menace in his eyes. " _Eat._ Or there won't be any children left." You can't envision him murdering children. You think he can't possibly mean it, but.. can you risk it? You accept the spoon he's giving you, your fingers brushing briefly in passing.

  
You eat in silence, and you drink water, take breaks. Your stomach can't handle much in one go, but you start to feel better. You are too tired to think much about why he's forcefeeding you, but you feel grateful that he did. You realise you were on the brink of something dark, something familiar, and he grabbed you, and pulled you away from the edge.

 

You finish your soup, and your water. Without even thinking, you lie down on the couch, body exhausted and in need of rest. You hear a muttered _"Good girl"_ before you fall into the dark embrace of sleep.

 


	10. Limits

You wake up in your own bed, fully dressed.  
You attempt to get up, but quickly realise that you've gotten some sort of punishment. In form of a leash. Your fingers run over it, it feels like soft leather, and there's a cold chain going from one side. You briefly touch the other side to confirm that it too has room for a chain. You can feel your face shine bright red with embarrassment as you tug on the chain to get free, and a little bell, attached to the chain with string, rings.

You look around as heavy steps come up the stairs. There is nothing within reach. Nothing to defend yourself with, nothing to attack with. You sit up on your knees in the bed, awkward and heart pumping. 

What the hell is going on?


	11. On a short leash

The door opens and a smiling Negan comes in. You exclaim "What the hell?" to his obvious amusement. "Why, Rapunzel, you're awake!" He closes the door behind him, and pulls up a chair at the end of your bed. You feel exposed, even fully clothed. There is something so vulnerable about being leashed, trapped with nowhere to go. You sit down, kneeling on your pillow, all your senses ablaze. "What?! Is the meaning of this?!" You snarl. He sits, broadlegged at the end of your bed with that wolfish grin. "I told you. Anger managment."  
  
He leans back, and points to you with his bat. "You ...have not been a good girl." You fight the instinct to _want_ to be a good girl, you are going to be angry, damn it! "You can't keep me here!" You rattle the chain, pull on it. "Sure I can", he purrs. "I'm Negan." He gestures to emphasize it. "And you have been such a bad girl, we need to sort you out!", he says jokingly. For a moment, he becomes serious, his eyes grow cold and dark. "You have disrespected me in front of my men, you have disrespected my men – and I can't have that. This little back and forth has been fun, but now you need to get back in line." He leans, bat in hand, on his knees, and his jacket creaks. You feel like you're going to lose your mind completely. The rage starts to build in you, and you can feel it becoming allconsuming. You stand up, and snarl for him to let you go. "No can do, princess. There is no knight to save you here either."

You lose it. Completely, utterly, you lose it like you never thought you could again. You scream bloody murder, pull the chain as hard as you can untill your hands hurt, and it still won't budge. You roar and lunge at him, forgetting the chain, only to be stopped mid-air by it, inches from his face. The collar hurts, your hair is in your face, your hands hurt and you are just a big ball of rage and fear. He leans forward with a serious face, but a twinkle of humour in his eyes. "Are you done?"

 


	12. Anger managment class pt.1

He stands up and grabs your ponytail in one fluid motion, pulling your head back, untill you whimper audibly from a mixture of pain and lust. You feel dizzy, not fully healed from not eating or sleeping right. "Now that I have your attention....", he purrs, while pushing you down on the bed, and guiding you with the ponytail. He straddles your body, and you feel his knees digging into your thighs as he presses them together. He grabs the leash, and pulls you back up towards him. "There's a herd blocking our way back. My boys will take care of it" – he pauses for effect – "you're welcome, by the way, but in the meantime, I'm gonna deal with this little diciplinary problem we've got going on here." He shoves you back down, his fingertips feels like they're leaving marks on your skin.

You feel nature calling, and you sit up carefully, still dizzy. "I have to pee", you grumble. He smiles, as he towers over you. "Well, all you gotta do is _ask_." The rage flares back up again, but for practical reasons, you push it back down. "May I go to the bathroom", you say, your tone reluctant. He smiles again, and something stirs in your chest, when you look at him, the warm chestnut eyes, the ruffled hair, the salt and pepper beard and that slow grin that makes you lose your breath. "May you go to the bathroom...?" He says expectantly. Your cheeks turn red, and you mutter, while looking down; "May I go to the bathroom, ... _please."_ He towers over you as he switches to a different leash on your collar, one he holds. A short leash. Too short, you think. He pulls the leash, and you stumble off the bed. "Good girl", he purrs into your ear, before letting you go to the bathroom.

The chain stops the door from closing and you look at him, incredulous. He looks back at you as if to say Well, if you have to go, these are the terms. You close the door as much as you can, and he looks away. You sit there, considering your options for escape, or for overpowering him, and you come up with a big fat nothing. You can't even pee, he is _right there_ – it feels too intimate and close and wrong. You turn on the water in the sink, and finally get to go.

After washing your hands and splashing your face somewhat, you leave the bathroom. He sits on the chair far away from the door and you look at him, and at the leash that he's hung up on a nail on the wall. He chuckles at your obvious confusion, before coming over and picking up the leash. You stagger along after him, shame and bewilderment storming inside you. Why would he just hang it there? Could you have escaped after all? How come you didn't notice that he let go of it?

"So far, so good", Negan smiles. "You did good." You smile, because you can't help it – the fatigue, the collar, the leash – you want the praise. You want to be the good girl. You give in, just a bit. He grabs you by the hips and buttocks and sets you on the bed. As you haven't been lifted like that in years, you go bright red and embarrassed, clinging to him. He looks unconcerned and ever-smiling, and you wonder how strong he really is. His hands still burn on you. His grin turns nasty. "Phew! How long since you showered, doll? You smell like blood, sweat and tears." You let go of him instantly and apologize profusely. "I don't remember." He looks you straight in the eyes, and tells you you reek. You feel a wave of shame, before understanding what game he might be playing. "May I take a shower, please?" He smiles just a tad, making the smallest of wrinkles near his eyes. He wants you to ask for things. He wants you to say please. You can do that, it's not dangerous to just say please... right?

He nods in the direction of the bathroom. "Now, you've got two choices", he says, holding up two fingers as he crouches in front of you. "One is, you shower or take a bath with the leash on, and you get to close the door a bit." You glance at the bathroom door. "Two", he continues, "you shower or bathe withouth the leash, and the door stays open." He stands up, towering over you. "So. Which is it?" You look at the door again, and you answer simply. "Leash." And that's when you realise it, when he leads you to the bathroom. This was a victory for him. It wasn't a real choice, but you still chose the leash. He's manipulating you into choosing the leash. This isn't good. This isn't safe.

You step into the bathroom, and he stops you, with a hand on your shoulder. "You need a change of clothes, too." You look at him, mortified. His confusion over the look on your face is evident. "I don't _have_ a change of clothes." He lets you go with a 'hm', and you go into the bathroom to undress, a sadness and shame burrowing into you. You undress behind the door, and step into the bathtub after filling it with bubbles and hot water. The warm soapy water helps calm you some, and for a moment you lay there, just enjoying the feeling of less pain and warmth. You hear murmurs in your bedroom, but you feel certain that he wouldn't do anything bad, like come into the bathroom when you are undressed. _Why?_ A voice in your head asks. What makes you trust him? You move slowly in the water to get up and sneak a peek who it is in your room, and that's when you notice. Where are your clothes?!

 


End file.
